


'...an increase in the amorous inclinations of the patient?'

by raiyana



Series: The Dwelf series [44]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Dworin Week, M/M, Omake from Zahrar chapter 2, Smutty, Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-15
Updated: 2017-07-15
Packaged: 2018-12-02 11:46:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11508759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raiyana/pseuds/raiyana
Summary: Thorin got a bit high, Dwalin got a bit angry, and good things happened.This has been edited/rewritten and consolidated into the main fic, Inshêt Zahrar





	'...an increase in the amorous inclinations of the patient?'

**Author's Note:**

> I'd actually like comments on this, as I'm so not confident in writing actual smut - somehow implying smutty things off-screen is way easier. Also, I havent much experience with anything, so I base things entirely on whatever I imagine... which is a bit weird as I haven't got the parts mentioned in this at all... seriously, why is my ship m/m.

_“What were you thinking!” Dwalin began angrily. Thorin could only shrug, knowing better than to interrupt the irate Dwarf. “You would have been killed, Thorin! What did you think would happen to our family if you died?! Not to mention the Quest. Mahal’s beard, you know you’re needed for that if nothing else!” Dwalin’s temper was so frayed, he could hardly keep his thoughts organised, let alone the disjointed rant that came out of his mouth. “And the lads… Thorin, ye’ve scared me that badly before, but think of what you would have done to Fíli and Kíli! And Dís! M’imnu Durin! She would have my beard, if not my head, sending me off to the Halls myself to scold you for such utter idiocy!” The bald Dwarf paced in the large bedroom Thorin had been allotted. The Dwarf-King could only sit on the tall bed and watch as his Kurdel’s temper found release. He idly wondered if it was wrong to think a Dwalin angry beyond words was as sexy as Thorin was currently thinking. His foggy thoughts – no doubt influenced by Óin’s medicine if not by the Elf’s salve – could only sing with admiration for his fierce lover. This explosion had been building since the Carrock, where Dwalin had been too consumed by worry to brood on his anger. Thorin winced as Dwalin’s voice reached hitherto unknown levels of volume._

_“ **Amralizu, amrâlimê.** ” Thorin felt a little odd. Dwalin simply stopped speaking to stare at him incredulously. “ **Afsâlul** ,” Thorin mumbled, “Dwalinimê **[1]**.” He nodded._

_Dwalin’s rant came to a sudden halt when Thorin began speaking. His words were slurred and Dwalin could see a line of drool making its way down his chin. Thorin just grinned loopily at him. “Óin!” Dwalin bellowed, panicking, proving that the Company had been listening at the door when Óin came stumbling through the door within seconds. Dwalin pointed at the lolling King, who was now talking to the ornately carved bedpost. The wooden bear did not answer._

_“ **Halwmugrê **[2]**** …” Thorin mumbled, patting the bear carving. Óin’s long years of experience was all that let him keep his composure. Thorin had never acted like this on poppymilk nor on any of the other common pain medicines he could dispense._

_“What’s wrong with him!” Dwalin pleaded with his eyes for Óin to tell him that their King’s mind was not permanently addled._

_“Dwalin… c’m’ere.” Thorin slurred, reaching for a point slightly to the left of Dwalin. “Two of yes and no kisses for me,” The King’s mien was turning decidedly pouty. Dwalin gaped, but made the mistake of moving in range of Thorin’s grabby hand. “My Dwalin. My bear. Not that bear. That bear doesn’t kiss me. You should kiss me,” Thorin said solemnly…to the carving. He kept pulling on the speechless Dwalin, however, and the burly warrior followed. Óin finally lost the battle with his laughter, but managed to make it outside the door before he let loose with a barrage of great guffaws that almost scared the rest of the Company. Óin was laughing so much he began wheezing before he could manage to explain his amusement._

 

* * *

 

Dwalin barely heard the door closing behind Óin, all his focus on Thorin, who was drooling a little on his bandages.

“Kisses, Dwalin,” he demanded, sounding like Kíli when he was being denied cookies until he had eaten his dinner…as a dwarfling. “Kisses, kisses, kisses,” Thorin babbled, smiling dopily at the flabbergasted warrior. The singsong repetition continued, increasingly insistent.

Dwalin felt extremely unprepared for this sort of situation. Thorin’s pout was adorable in a way that made him want to give in – not that he didn’t _want_ to kiss Thorin most of the time, pout or no – but he had been trying to scold his reckless beloved, finding release from his own violent fear. Thorin pulled at his hand again. Dwalin opened his mouth to say something – _anything_ – but froze, when Thorin’s tongue swept quickly across his lips, before it made contact with one of Dwalin’s thick fingers, dragging slowly along the length of it before Thorin wrapped his lips around the knuckle, sucking lightly. His blue eyes were hazy with a peculiar innocence Dwalin couldn’t remember seeing since before Smaug attacked Erebor. He could hardly stop himself moving to follow, when Thorin leaned back with a soft groan, relaxing on the pillows and sucking Dwalin’s entire index finger into his warm mouth. A low curse escaped him; Thorin’s tongue was definitely _not_ innocent in the least, and Dwalin knew exactly how it would feel elsewhere.

“Thorin,” he moaned low in his throat. “What are you doing?” If the Son of Durin had been less injured, Dwalin would have had no qualms giving in, but he sat carefully on the edge of the mattress, trying not to jostle Thorin’s battered torso.

“Kisses?” Thorin asked, releasing Dwalin’s finger with an obscenely loud pop. His eyes looked hopefully at the bulky dwarf sat next to him on the bed.

“Mahal wept!” Dwalin cursed, leaning down and pressing his lips gently against Thorin’s. “Happy now?” he asked, keeping a tight rein on his own desire, his earlier fear-fueled energy turned into base lust with Thorin’s little display. _Thorin is not well,_ kept running through his mind, and the dark bruises he had seen before Óin wrapped Thorin’s torso in bandages helped stave off his desire to give into the thoughts Thorin inspired, affirming that they were _both_ alive that way, like they had done before. The King shook his head.

“More,” he demanded, petulantly. Dwalin groaned. Thorin was not playing fair. “Beautiful Dwalin…my Dwalin?” he asked sweetly, pulling Dwalin’s thick digit back towards his shiny pink lips.

“Thorin, you’re injured… and whatever was in that elven medicine has addled your head. There’s no way you’re capable of ‘more’,” he growled, his voice deeper than usual by a few degrees of lust. Dwalin was startled to see the glistening sheen of tears appear in Thorin’s eyes.

“No kisses?” he asked, “You don’t want me!” he wailed, looking so sad Dwalin had to give in and kiss that look out of his eyes. “Kisses!” Thorin exclaimed happily. Dwalin hid his face in his palms, scrubbing it tightly in annoyance with himself, Thorin, and the situation in general.

“A curse on Elvish medicine,” he grumbled. It was obvious that it had worked – Thorin was not in any obvious pain – but Dwalin felt sorely put-upon. Thorin grabbed his beard, his fingers unerringly finding the bead hidden beneath the bristles and pulling him back down for more kisses. The soft moan he uttered in response only made Dwalin feel worse, and his mental state was not helped by the fact that Thorin’s free hand had disappeared under the lacing of his breeches, fondling himself as he moaned into Dwalin’s mouth.

“My Dwalin,” he mumbled. Dwalin’s forehead came to rest on Thorin’s with a soft thunk. His eyes closed, as he tried to focus on his breathing, calming down by inches. Listening to Thorin’s gentle moaning was doing his own pants no favours, turning them tighter by the second. Dwalin tried to tell himself that he was better than this, better than taking advantage of peculiar medicine to wank to the sight of his lover playing with himself. He was not sure he was convincing enough to persuade himself of that fact, and when Thorin’s lips found his once more, Dwalin flowed into the kiss with a needy sound that surprised even himself. His eyes flew open when Thorin’s hand grasped his own once more, pushing it firmly into his breeches and wrapping it around Thorin’s rampant erection.

“Mahal…” Dwalin did not know what to do; this was _not_ what he had expected from his evening. “Fine!” he growled roughly, in response to Thorin’s pout and his helpful fingers trying to make Dwalin’s large hand move. “But you do not move!” he commanded, like Thorin was a green recruit before his Captain, his accent notably thickened. “I’ll no have Óin upset wi’ me for injurin’ ye waur.” Unlacing his own discomfort with a sigh of relief, Dwalin did the same to Thorin, pulling his erection out of his breeches.

“Dwaliiiiin,” Thorin whined, “kisses!” His hand kept trying to move Dwalin’s on his cock, standing firm and proud from its nest of dark curls, clear fluid beading at the tip.

“A told ye nae movin’,” Dwalin growled, placing Thorin’s hands firmly on the bedding. When they stayed there, he rewarded his lover with a soft kiss. Turning himself slightly, Dwalin dropped a kiss on the tip of Thorin’s erection, smirking when he heard the gasp of air from the dwarf below him.

“More kisses?” Thorin asked hopefully. His hip pressed up slightly, wetting Dwalin’s lips with his precome. Dwalin growled, wrapping his large hands around Thorin’s hips and pressing them into the mattress. Thorin pouted at him, when he looked up to catch the blue eyes, looking more alert now, but still dark with lust. Thorin’s hips pressed against Dwalin’s hands insistently. “Dwaliiin…” he moaned. “Please.”

“Only if’n ye dinnae move,” Dwalin threatened, punctuating his sentence by licking a broad stripe from root to tip. Looking up at Thorin, he was greeted by the sight of frantic nodding. Dwalin smirked. He had always enjoyed being a tease, after all. Rubbing his bristly cheek along Thorin’s weeping cock, he gave the King a cheeky smile. “Yer sure ye can stay still fer me, **kurkaruk **[3]****?” Taking Thorin’s groan – as well as the way his fists were stubbornly pressed against the mattress – as confirmation, Dwalin bent his head once more, wrapping his lips around the head and licking it gently. Bobbing slowly up and down, taking Thorin further into his mouth on each pass until he hit the back of his throat, Dwalin hummed softly. Swallowing around Thorin’s girth made the dark-haired dwarf cry out, but he did not move, so Dwalin continued.

“ **Halwmugrê** …” Thorin moaned, his head thrashing from side to side. “Please…” Dwalin smirked. It had been weeks since they’d last had a chance to enjoy each other. Upping his speed slowly, he drew his tongue along the veins of Thorin’s cock, following the ridges in the way experience told him made his beloved see stars. Leaning his weight one hand, he brought the other to bear, wrapping his strong but gentle fingers around Thorin’s balls, playing with the heavy weights and rubbing gently across the skin behind them. Thorin muttered a low curse, whining wordlessly in his throat. Dwalin knew he wanted to move, but Thorin stayed still, his fists clenching the bedding below him. Dwalin smiled around his thick mouthful, humming softly as he swallowed. Pressing his fingers insistently against Thorin’s taint pushed the prone dwarf over the edge, his cry of completion sweet music to Dwalin’s ears as he swallowed rapidly. He chuckled against Thorin’s softening cock, releasing it from his mouth with a last lingering lick that made Thorin whimper his name.

“Yer a world o’ trouble, ma Thorin,” he murmured, resting his head on Thorin’s thigh and looking up at his lover’s sated eyes with a sigh. “Don’ ye _ever_ do something so gyte again, love,” he whispered, pressing his lips against Thorin’s skin, “I cannae lose you.” Thorin did not reply, murmuring something that sounded like Dwalin’s name; almost asleep. The warrior chuckled, shaking his head at the ridiculousness of the whole thing, before rising from his awkward position. His own lust had not been sated, but he suddenly felt too exhausted to bother. Pulling Thorin’s boots and breeches off, Dwalin quickly discarded his own clothing before he climbed onto the tall bed, wrapping the heavy blanket around the both of them. When he curled himself against Thorin’s side, the dark-haired dwarf let out another content sigh, turning his head to face Dwalin’s.

“My Dwalin-love,” he whispered with a soft smile, adding something Dwalin didn’t catch. Pressing his forehead against Dwalin’s Thorin finally fell asleep.

Dwalin lay awake for another five minutes, just watching him breathe, and letting the peace of night settle on him. He tried to banish all memories of the limp way Thorin had dangled in the Eagle’s claws; it was not the first time he had seen his love horrifically injured, nor was it likely to be the last, but it did not make the sight easier to bear. His own injuries had been far less severe; a burned palm from holding on to one of Tharkûn’s flaming pinecones for the first infinite moment after the white warg had picked up Thorin, but it was already mostly healed. Dwarrow were quite resilient to burns, after all, made for the hot work of forges, and while Dwalin did not have the fabled Fire-Touch like Glóin, who could pick up burning coals unscathed, Dwalin’s skin was still capable of withstanding high temperatures without significant damage. His arm loosely curled around Thorin’s middle, Dwalin drifted off to sleep to the soft sound of Thorin’s light snores.

 

 

 

 [A link back to chapter 3 of zahrar.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7189718/chapters/22937922)

 

[1] MY Dwalin (super possessive)

[2] Honey-bear

[3] Tiny-raven, nickname.


End file.
